


Up All Night

by PhilTrashNo164



Series: Soaring [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Psychosis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14856309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilTrashNo164/pseuds/PhilTrashNo164
Summary: It takes ten days for everything to spiral.





	Up All Night

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on my own super SUPER fun experiences and I’m still not sure if writing this was cathartic or triggering… anyway, I’ve only ever stumbled across one other D&P fic where one of them had psychosis, so here’s my contribution, I guess. Message me on tumblr at mysticalkoalamiracle if you want to say hi!
> 
> The quotes below each day are taken from the study “Disrupting Sleep: The Effects of Sleep Loss on Psychotic Experiences Tested in an Experimental Study With Mediation Analysis” (catchy title right)

_March_

 

**1.**

 

**_“The overall conclusion is that insomnia has a causal role in the occurrence of certain psychotic experiences”_ **

 

He’s functioning, but barely.

 

It’s a sign of privilege, he knows, to be able to class 7AM as “abnormally early”, instead of it being “the hour I start my - shitty, minimum wage - job”, but when you’ve slipped into the bad habit of rarely rising before the PM, and only went to bed at half 3, then being awake at that time feels criminal.

 

He’s functioning, but barely, having made the taxi driver pull in at a service station 20 minutes into the journey so that he could get two black coffees (“No, they’re  _both_ for me, Phil, piss off and get your own”) and splash his face with the trickle of lukewarm water from the toilet tap. It’d helped, just about.

 

He blames Phil for all of this. PJ and Sophie are busy people, with busy schedules, but more than that they’re “morning” people (even that term makes him feel tired) and apparently Phil had thought there was “nothing wrong” with agreeing to meet them for breakfast in Brighton, even though he knew full well that Dan was very much a night-owl, thank you very much. He’d even wanted to take the train, a decision that had made Dan feel his forehead to see if he was coming down with “fucking _insanity_ , Phil, public transport at _that_ hour?” but had acquised quickly enough when Dan threatened to delete their Sims file if they didn’t get a taxi.

 

*

 

They argue on the journey back, just something stupid about what time they should walk their future-hypothetical-non-existent dog, but he ends up staying up until 4AM complaining to Cat (the only person still awake) about how annoying and _wrong_ Phil is.

 

(Cat, for her part, just makes sympathetic noises and suggests he go to sleep, advice he rolls his eyes at, ‘cause if he does that then he’ll forget all about being pissed off, and if he’s honest he’s quite enjoying whining.)

 

He’s sleep-deprived, but he can make up the hours later, it’s no biggie.

 

He _can_ …

 

...but he doesn’t.

  


**4.**

 

**_“The sleep loss condition was also associated with significant increases in negative affect, negative self and other cognitions, worry, and working memory impairment.”_ **

 

“Have you slept at _all_?”

 

He blinks up from his Tumblr dashboard, sees Phil standing in the doorway. “Sleep is for the weak. I got caught up watching the Beverly Hills Chihuahua franchise…”

 

Phil wrinkles his nose. “‘Franchise’? How many films _are_ there?”

 

“Three. They’re all shit.”

 

“Huh.” Phil surveys him with a sleepy expression, yawns. “Well, you’ll probably want coffee, then-”

 

“I don’t feel tired.”

 

Phil peers at him suspiciously. “OK, what are you _on_?”

 

He smirks. “Smuggled some cheeky MDMA in with the Ocado order, of course.”

 

“The kids call it ‘E’, you know.”

 

“Yes, and you’d know about that, because you’re definitely not edging closer to 40 than 20-”

 

“Didn’t you say once that I was gonna ‘age like a fine wine’?”

 

“I think I must have been drinking the bloody wine when I said that, mate.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“I hate you more.”

 

But they can’t hide their smiles as they speak, and everything is good.

 

...For now, at least.

 

*

 

“Do you think I can make lilac look _edgy_?”

 

Phil looks up from Zelda, glances so briefly at the iPad in Dan’s hands that Dan suspects Phil’s retinas are still projecting images of Link, says “It’d be a bit ‘pastel goth’ on you, I think. But you should give it a go. Push that boat out.”

 

Dan scoffs. “You sound like my mother.”

 

“Your mother and I are best friends. She messaged me the other day with present ideas for your birthday.”

 

“It’s _March_.”

 

“Rich coming from the guy who starts buying my Christmas presents in August.”

 

“I do that because I _care_ , Phil. Anyway, I’m gonna get it.”

 

Phil doesn’t even blink when he says that, re-enforcing Dan’s suspicion that he hadn’t even seen the jumper Dan had been eyeing - or its £550 price tag.

 

Dan clicks “Checkout”, is rudely reminded by ASOS that he took his credit card information off the site to stop himself from, well, spending so much damn money. His jeans have no pockets (he’d Tweeted a complaint earlier, only to get thousands of girls replying that this was a common occurrence in women’s fashion - the thought of that was enough to make him want to go back to sodding university, become an MP, and make such a thing illegal) which means his wallet must still be in his backpack. His backpack is upstairs. He sighs a little at the energy it’s going to take to climb those stairs.

 

*

 

There’s something wrong with their bedroom.

 

Phil had left a pair of socks hanging over the edge of the chest of drawers two days ago, and now Dan’s struggling to remember if they’d always been arranged like that, one haphazardly on top of the other. The bed is, as usual, unmade, but something about it looks like it’s been recently messed with.

 

 _It’s just your imagination_ , he thinks to himself. _What sort of pervy burglar would touch Phil’s socks?_

 

But when a rummage around in his backpack fails to procure his wallet, he begins to panic.

 

_Someone’s been in the flat. Maybe they want to steal my identity, and when we travel to Ireland for the tour I’ll be arrested and that’ll be the end of my career and I’ll have to go back to working at Asda, oh God-_

 

He thunders down the stairs two at a time, runs into the lounge, opens his mouth to warn Phil about his imminent prison time, sees that Phil is holding his wallet-

 

“I-”

 

“Thought you might have been looking for this,” Phil interrupts, handing the wallet to him. “You gave it to me when you realised we’d forgotten to buy milk, remember? So I popped down to Morrison’s-”

 

‘With _my_ credit card?”

 

Phil’s giving him a concerned look now, and he hates it. “Dan, it only happened this morning! You gave it to me, said you owed me for the Domino’s yesterday. I think you need to get some sleep-”

 

“I’m _fine_ , Phil,” he says, but later (when he’s gone upstairs under the ruse of going to bed, and is instead scrolling through Twitter as Phil sleeps next to him) he can’t shake the earlier feelings of paranoia. He feels watched, wary, unsafe-

 

But it’s probably nothing. Ignore it and it’ll go away, right?

  
**6.**

 

**_“Highly significant and large effect size increases were found for depression, anxiety, and stress following the sleep loss condition, as compared with the control condition.”_ **

 

They’re filming a Golf With Friends video when he gets the urge to cry.

 

Not the “silent-rolling-tears” kind of cry. No, he wants to roll into a ball and _shriek._

 

He’s maybe totalled nine and a half hours sleep for the past few days, and he knows that what he really should do is go and take a nap, but he’s never been too good about taking care of himself, at least not until the situation becomes critical. His therapist had cancelled yesterday, due to illness, and that means he won’t see her for another week, that she can’t give him advice, tell him to look after himself, but he’s not bothered by it.

 

In fact, the less he sleeps, the more alert he feels. At 5AM this morning he’d been struck by two ideas for amazing videos, and was forced to quickly jot down notes on his phone as inspiration coursed through him. It’s a feeling he can certainly get used to.

 

But now it’s late afternoon, and he’s feeling a little… sensitive.

 

He’s losing the round of golf, which never happens, and for some reason it’s hit him hard. Phil’s sitting next to him, bragging, and it’s well-deserved, and he’s more than allowed to brag, but it’s sent Dan down some self-hatred spiral, got him thinking about how he’s not good at anything, will never be good at anything, ever, and will definitely have to go back to Asda, sod it-

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Phil’s taken his hand off the trackpad, is staring at him with more of those worried expressions he loves to put on around Dan these days.

 

“‘Course,” Dan says, blinking back tears and forcing a smile. “I’m just gonna go and make some ribena.”

 

As he fills up the glass with tap water he notices the plates piled up in the sink. There’s the usual array of cutlery chucked in there too, but also a sharper knife that he used when making lunchtimes’ salad. The knife is just lying there, and as he stares at it he thinks _Maybe someone broke in and put this knife where he knew I would see it, so I’d go fight him._

 

It’s a bit of an odd thought, but he second he thinks he knows it’s true. He puts his glass down on the draining board, walks over and opens the doors to the balcony, looks down at the ground below him.

 

He can’t see anyone acting suspiciously, but there’s a chance the Sainsbury’s van that just pulled up across the road is full of men pretending to be employees so that they can sneak across to his building and attack him.

 

That’s an even odder thought, but it seems perfectly logical in this moment.

 

_Nothing wrong with being a little cautious._

 

_...What’s the safest room in the house?_

 

He thinks, files the information away for later use, because it will turn out to be important, he just knows it.

 

 

**10.**

 

**“Sleep problems were associated with a 2-fold increased likelihood of endorsing that there was a plot to harm them (paranoia) or an experience of seeing visions or hearing voices (hallucinations)”**

 

“Dan, just come out of the bathroom, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

How long has he been in here?

 

Long enough for Phil to become concerned.

 

Not long enough for the threat to go away.

 

“I’m safe in here. I-”

 

His eyes catch on that stupid One Direction mask they hooked up on the back of the door (because the new place looked weird without it).

 

“They’re watching me,” he says, unable to look away from the cameras in the mask’s eyes. “God, they’re watching me-”

 

“Dan? What are you talking about?”

 

“The removal van guys must have been paid to put cameras in them when we moved,” Dan babbles, snatching the mask off its hook and turning it over. It looks just like a normal mask, but he isn’t so easily fooled. A smile tugs at his mouth. “Tiny cameras, ooh, they’re good, I’ll give them that. But I can stay one step ahead-”

 

He lifts the toilet lid, crumples the mask up, flushes.

 

“Dan, I’m getting worried! Do you want me to call someone?”

 

An almost hysterical laugh escapes his mouth, to be followed by horror. “No! Don’t let anyone in! They can’t be trusted, Phil. Promise you won’t open the door to anyone?”

 

“I… Dan, you’re scaring me.”

 

An idea occurs to him. “Phil, you should come in here too. They can’t get through a locked door.”

 

“...Who’s ‘they’?”

 

Dan rolls his eyes. “The government? You know, the people who want me dead?”

 

There’s silence for a beat or two.

 

No. Not complete silence. It sounds like Phil’s talking to someone on the phone.

 

“They’ve probably tapped your phone,” Dan calls through the door. “The call’s probably being recorded. When it’s safe we can head out and get new phones, OK?”

 

“Dan,” Phil says a minute later, “Someone’s going to take us somewhere safe, OK?”

 

“Are they MI5? I love those guys.”

 

“They won’t hurt you, I promise,” Phil says, and Dan knows he can be trusted.

 

They get into the car after Dan’s had a shower (“For the photos, Phil, I’ll be in all the papers, and I’ve got to look good”) and searched every room for signs they’ve been tampered with. The car looks like a taxi, but Dan knows that must be MI5’s way of letting them get to their location without arousing suspicion, or endangering them. For the first time in days, he can relax-

 

Wait. Why-

 

“Why are we at A&E?”

 

Phil’s expression is full of pain, which makes no sense to Dan.

 

“They need to make sure you’re not hurt,” Phil says. “They want to check you’re OK.”

 

“Someone’s out to kill me, of course I’m not OK,” Dan snaps, but he gets out of the car anyway and heads into the building, anything to get away from the car park, where he could be shot at at any moment.

 

They wait there for a couple of hours, Dan assessing every new person that walks by to see if they’re going to hurt him, and then they’re lead through to the “psychiatrist liaison team”, who ask Dan a bunch of stupid questions about whether he feels like he’s been watched, or if he feels like hurting himself, blah blah blah, who cares when there’s clearly a camera in the ceiling? He won’t admit anything whilst _they’re_ watching him, and then someone’s pressing a green sheet of paper into Phil’s hands and they’re back in the car, stopping off at the 24-hour Tesco (“Stay in the car, Dan.” “I’m not _stupid_ , Phil.”) and then they’re back home and Phil’s pressing a pill into Dan’s hand, offering him a glass of water, and telling him it will make him better.

 

He demands to know if there’s poison in the pill, makes Phil get out the leaflet that came with it and read it to him, gets bored as Phil drones on about something that has nothing to do with him, and takes it just to shut him up.

 

“Go to sleep,” Phil says, and Dan mutters something about “wanting to sleep in the bathroom ‘cause it’s safe in there”, but his eyes are growing heavy and he can’t help but rest his head on the sofa for just a second-

 

He sleeps for the next twelve hours.

 

*****

 

**One Week Later**

 

The pills make him both ravenous and sleepy, but they work.

 

After a few days’ good sleep, in addition to the meds, all the weird thoughts slip away, and it almost seems like they happened to somebody else. He’s told that having an uncle who’s bipolar increases his risk of having a psychotic episode, which is just fantastic, but his new mental health team work with his current one to assure him that such a thing isn’t guaranteed to happen again, if he gets enough sleep and keeps an eye on his mood.

 

And Phil’s been there for him through all of it, and Dan doesn’t think he can ever repay him.

 

“You’d do the same for me,” Phil says, as they watch some anime - or, in Dan’s case, try and stay awake enough to focus on it, whilst avoiding eating all of their takeaway. “I’m just glad you’re OK.” Phil looks at him with the soppiest expression imaginable, and Dan hums, touches Phil’s foot with his own.

 

He’ll be OK, and maybe even - in a couple of weeks - great.

 

It’s crazy how quickly he can descent into a terrifying mental space, but, like with the depression, he knows he can pull himself out of it.

 

He’ll be OK.

  



End file.
